Silent Nights
by addictedtochocolates
Summary: That was the day Silena Marrwood was reaped./ Set years before Katniss and Peeta's games, a trio form an alliance in the games, fighting tribulations and obstacles, knowing that only one can emerge Victor. Who will win? And more importantly, why?


**A/N: Okay, I know some of the people who have added me to author alert will probably want to kill me know, because, very obviously, this isn't an iCarly fic, like those that I usually write.**

**This isn't even one of those fluff filled fics for Everlark.**

**Anyways, moving on with the story!**

**Disclaimer: I had a crappy day today. It became worse when I realised that my life revolves around fictional characters that don't even belong to me. The concept of the Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins and the publisher, however, all characters seen in the fic below, with the exception of one, belongs to me.**

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><p>"<em>Silena Marrwood!"<em>

_My palms turn sweaty as my friends gasp in shock and horror, not daring to believe what they'd just heard, Carlotta, Merrilee and Ivy, hands to their mouths, and even Ivy, the most headstrong out of us four, already has tears forming in her eyes as the words sink in. They don't do anything, don't volunteer as I stand up shakily, slowly making my way to the front. _

_I don't blame them; Lottie has five younger siblings, all under twelve, and they'd never survive without the tessarae that Lottie has claimed every month since four years ago; Merrilee simply does not have the means to kill in the arena, sweet hearted as she is, she would rather starve than kill an animal, let alone human beings. Ivy, though the strongest and the most likely to survive in the arena, is the only child of her mother, and her dad had died in an accident years ago. Her mother had been in ill-health lately, and she would never survive if she had to send her only daughter into the arena. I, on the other hand, have three older siblings at home that are over eighteen and free from the reaping, and perfectly capable of taking care of our parents. Of course it would be me._

_That was the day Silena Marrwood was reaped._

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><p>Silena Marrwood, District 7 tribute, was ushered into the Justice Building by Cerrilynn Dawn, the escort for District 7. Her head facing the ground as her long brown hair covered her face, she was herded into a room quickly, soon finding herself face to face with the existing victors of District 7 before her: Destinia, Autumn, Tristan, and Levi. The other tribute, her district partner, Josiah, sat on a couch, laid there beside an armchair, which she silently placed herself in, her hands in her lap, her head still down.<p>

Autumn, aptly named for her short auburn hair that resembled the leaves of the trees they felled in the autumn seasons, steeped out of the line the four formed, and smiling gently at the two tributes, her eyes hollow and empty, explained, not unkindly, that they were to go into separate rooms, where they would be given time to say good bye to family and friends. Silena gulped, hoping her friends wouldn't be too sentimental as they said their goodbyes; it would make it worse, with those memories of them, to enter the arena, where the chances of her making it out and seeing them again were so slim.

As it turned out, she didn't have to worry. Only Ivy turned up, her green eyes glossy with tears as she hugged Silena as tightly as she could without suffocating her, a grim and sorrowful look on her face. "Merrilee and Lottie decided it'd be best if they didn't come, the tears they were crying, but they and their families send their love."

Silena nodded her head, feeling the tears in her eyes get heavier and heavier and the image of Ivy becoming more and more blurred. Trying to blink back the tears that stung her eyes, Ivy placed both hands on her shoulders, levelling her eyes with Silena's ice blue ones. "No matter what happens in the arena, Lena, no matter what choices you make in there, remember, Lena, we'll be behind you all the way, okay?"

Nodding her head, she felt Ivy pull her close as Silena's tears dropped from her closed eyelod, dripping onto Ivy's thin, dark green dress as Ivy's tears returned the favour, and Silena's dress soon had many small dark spots on it as well. Finally breaking free, Ivy squeezed Silena's hand, the Peacekeeper announcing that it was time to leave.

Reaching the door, Ivy pivoted around gracefully, her skirt twirling around her, her eyes sad and biting her lip, she told Silena something she'd expected all along. "And your parents… They're not coming; Lena, but… they love you. I know it."

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><p>Renard Birch walked into the large room he's led into, and barely two minutes after he sat down on the plush gold velvet couch, had a little blond headed figure jumped into his arms, sobbing her eyes out as she refused to get off him. When she finally looked up at him, he notices that her ice blue eyes are red-rimmed with tears that had not subsided since his name was called—"No! Not Renny!"—and her long, blond hair hung around her in soft ringlets, giving her a look of pure innocence and vulnerability.<p>

Which suited her perfectly, because that's exactly what Serena Birch is: a little twelve year old, with soft blonde curls, big blue eyes the colour of the lake in the winter, and lovely, petal pink lips, with a personality that's as innocent and vulnerable, with Renard having done his best to protect her.

"C'mon, Serrie, it'll be okay." He assured her, carrying her up from her position of clinging to her body, making her sit on his lap.

"But you're going in to the arena!" Serena burst out into sobs all over again, still clutching onto Renard's dark green shirt, and Renard feels a pang in his heart, a regret that despite trying his best to shield his little baby sister from as much harm and pain, he couldn't block out this one dark cloud hanging over everyone, the one that's planting horrible images of the arenas past, and imagining one that he'll be in, soon.

"I'll try my best to come back, Serrie, so don't you worry your pretty little mind." He says, ruffling her golden hair as she rested her head on his chest.

All too soon, sweet little Serena Birch is carried out of the room by her parents, already asleep, exhausted from her bout of tears in the past hour, and Renard couldn't help but wish that his words to her were true.

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><p>Andre Windfields struggled not to roll his eyes as his younger brother bounced around the room they were in, marvelling at the pretty drawers and comfortable sofa, all the time droning about how lucky he was to be able to enter the arena and participate in the Games, and having a chance to win a life of glory and fame. Andre didn't want all that—he'd be happy to just stay in District 2 and live his normal, carefree—albeit boring—life.<p>

At least at home he wouldn't have to worry about being killed at any moment.

For God's sake, while he lived amongst air-headed people who thought killing twenty-three other people in an arena was something to be proud of, he begged to differ. Despite all this beliefs of his, however, he still went for the training lessons and other classes—in a bid to avoid his parents' lectures on hoe it would be beneficial, should he ever make the decision to volunteer, or be reaped. In any case, he hated the Games, but it was something he could ever tell anyone in his District.

Everyone who truly knew him knew this tiny little fact though.

"Whatever, Castro." With the absurd names given by the parents of the kids in his District, he was honestly thankful that his mother had been sober enough not to be swayed by his dad, or even the other mothers in the district to give him a somewhat decent name. Otherwise, instead of Andre Windfields, he would have been Cestra Windfields instead. Even though he stuck out, he was grateful that his name was not one he was completely embarrassed of.

His mother and father glared at him for his tone at his brother, and the boy in question crossed his arms, sulking, and he groaned as his father opened his mouth, getting ready to give him a lecture on how he should be proud to be chosen. He didn't hate his family, in fact, he loved them, but the whole being proud of being chosen for the reaping thing, was just plain nonsense.

When his family finally left, he felt a pang in his heart as he realised that he might never see them again.

For once, Andre Windfields felt, completely and totally alone.

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><p>"<em>Isn't it just a beautiful day?" Clementine Rays, the escort to District 11, trills clearly excited, and she sticks her hand into the bowl holding the names of the boys who are twelve to eighteen, picking out a name, unfolding it, and then waving it in the air, the female tribute, Alexis, already standing there, her strawberry blonde hair pointing to the ground as teardrops drip onto the stage. "Well, well, well! Our male tribute… Renard Birch!"<em>

_I only start to walk up when someone pushes me onto the concrete pathway, slightly stunned—but why should I be?—and plod towards the stage, my feet getting heavier and heavier the closer I get to it. It's a five minute walk from where I am to the stage; there are just too many people at the reaping that could have been reaped. I know my face is being shown on the screen every step I take, but I don't lift my head. I hear faint shrieks of "No! Not Renny!" that pull at my heart, threatening to pull it apart. The only person that could have come from would be from that of my younger sister, Serena, who's only twelve._

_I finally raise my head as I face the crowd._

_My head held high, and my heart feeling heavy, I stand there, male tribute of District 11._

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><p>Silena sits on the train in the dining hall, and she eats, though quickly, with all the grace she can muster. The food on the table is like none she's ever had before, and she has to force herself not to stuff her face with food. Her district partner, Josiah, has decided to disregard all table manners, opting to eat with his hands instead, and grinds his food into his mouth before he actually has the chance to swallow the food in his mouth. Autumn, Destinia, Tristan, and Levi are there as well, with Cerrilynn, and they watch the two silently, Cerrilynn shaking her head disgustedly as Josiah almost chokes on the turkey leg he tries to inhale.<p>

Autumn and Destinia talk to each other, short auburn hair mixed with long, caramel blonde, and their kind—albeit hollow—tree bark brown eyes flickering to Silena every so often, in an attempt to gauge her. Autumn had won her games twelve years ago, her small frame hiding her viciousness with a sharp object, and she had managed to win with only one kill, manipulating the others to kill each other before she finally slit the wrists of her last opponent.

Destinia, on the other hand, had outwitted everyone the next year, managing to become a victor without lifting a finger, letting all her opponents kill each other, much like her mentor before her, and she made sure the last opponent died of starvation as she hid in trees, destroying whatever food items he had found.

Tristan and Levi look weary and dispirited, and they eat their food in silence, glancing at each other from their places across the table, in silent conversation. They wince as Josiah slurps his lamb stew, letting out a loud belch before starting to lick his bowl. Tristan was the latest member of the District 7 Victors, only having won his games four years back, at eighteen years old, he had been one of the oldest tributes in the arena. He had allied himself with other districts, disappearing at the most opportune moments, and had managed to backstab two Careers he had allied with at the end, winning his games.

Levi is the oldest at the table, and had become the only Victor of District 7 twenty years back, before Autumn joined him. He had joined the bloodbath at the Cornucopia before going into hiding until he was one of the last five, winning when he impaled the female tribute from District 1 with an axe.

Silena knows, of course, that she shouldn't be as worried as she was, after all, weren't her mentors, no matter which one she picked, better than District 12's Haymitch Abernathy, who, she heard, had become so dependent on alcohol when his first two tributes died in the bloodbath, that his current tributes, despite only being his second batch, were practically mentorless?

Autumn rises, and eventually, after a menacing glower from Levi, Tristan does too. "Silena, Josiah, we'll be your mentors this year."

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><p>Renard Birch sits with his district partner, Alexis, at his side, the table unnaturally quiet for dinnertime than he's used to, and the truth of it all finally sinks in. The chatter of little Serena Birch is missed dearly, and for a while, he allows himself to wonder if the table at home is as quiet as well, or if Serena is still crying, holding on to some hope that her older brother Renard will still come home, and the name read on the podium is a mistake, that Clementine has made a mistake. Or has she resigned herself to the cold, harsh, fact that her brother, the one that she loves so dearly, is on his way to his doom right now, and that she only has a tiny sliver of hope that he might return, somewhat unharmed, back home safe and soundly?<p>

Eventually, the only existing victors—actually, the only victors—Celeste and Oakley, at the table stand.

Celeste won her Games seven years ago when she had managed to get her hands on some Nightlock, and the arena was mostly a desert, with lack of water. She then offered them to thirsty tributes that ate the berries, dying as soon as the juice touched their parched tongues. Using an arrow, somewhat flimsily, she also managed to take down quite a few tributes.

Oakley, however, had won his games a good thirty years ago, and according to what he heard, he had stayed in an orchard of fruits, luring his opponents in, and using his ability to climb and weave vines to good use. His opponents hung upside down from trees for hours, even days, till the vines broke, unable to take their weight, and their skulls broke, killing them instantly.

"Alexis, Renard, we're your mentors this year."

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><p>Andre Windfields ate his food silently, rolling his eyes every so often as the air-headed Anatole, his district partner, sat on the other end of the table, chattering to the other Victors, a fake smile on her face as she sipped her drink every now and then, her pinkie finger sticking out in an attempt to look sophisticated. As she continued rambling on and on, he rolled his eyes for the hundredth time in five minutes, why was he stuck with all these annoying people who had mush for brains?<p>

"I mean, I was like, so surprised that like, no one volunteered this year, y'know?" Anatole giggles, flipping her hair. "But, then again, they must like, y'know, know that I was totally made to enter the games."

Andre had just gulped down a mouthful of coffee—he'd never had one so rich and fragrant—when he saw Anatole's attempt at being flirty, and he immediately choked in laughter. Giving him a glare that made him thankful that looks couldn't kill, he realised that she was furious at him for stealing her attention, and so he continued to cough into the piece of cloth the Avox had given him before succumbing to large, wolfish barks of laughter at the memory of it all.

Huffing in anger, Anatole crossed her arms and sunk in deeper to her seat—just as two of the many Victors at the table rose.

"Anatole, Andre, we're your mentors this year, Selrin and Sera, and we're yout mentors this year. Let's get started, shall we?"

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><p>"<em>Andre Windfields!"<em>

_I groan as I step out, the people around me that I know from school congratulating me as I attempt to squeeze myself from in between the crowd, who have decided to, ironically, pack in. I feel my hands being shaken, pats on the shoulder, and even smirks and grins, calls of good luck and make us proud being echoed by everyone—adults and teenagers alike._

_I hear my brother, Castro, proclaiming that I'm his brother, and his voice is tinged with a sort of pride that he has never used with my name. His friends' eyes widen in amazement and envy, and I even overhear one of them saying that he wishes his sister could have been reaped too. It's as if I've won something great, wonderful, something so glorious that I should be proud of walking to the stage, like the female tribute, my new district partner, Anatole Morrisson, had been, her head held high, a smirk no one could rub off._

_I honestly don't get why they are cheering._

_I brush off their comments, and walk up the stage, where the escort, Sequin Dasie, makes Anatole and I shake hands, and the smirk that Anatole has worn since Sequin called her name remains, and I have to suppress the urge to groan onstage, where everyone is watching._

_I'm going into the arena._

_That's just great. Argh._

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**P.S. (The next update might be awhile, so be warned! If you're the kind of person who gets annoyed at having to check whether I've updated again and again, feel free to add this to Story Alert!)**


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